


It Don't Mean a Thing (If You Ain't Got That Swing)

by nostalgicplant



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, everyone loves dancing and is stressed out for after college, nugget the hamster, phichit is really emotionally connected to his hamsters, slight past mention of eating disorders, swing dancing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 01:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgicplant/pseuds/nostalgicplant
Summary: They fall in love, and sometimes, they fall on the dance floor.Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are gunning for the championship title at Collegiate Swing Dancing Nationals. Yuuri is hunting the title he's dreamed of for so long, and Viktor is trying to fall back in love with dance after a convoluted ballet past. There are highs, like cool lifts, and lows, like the tragic death of Nugget, the hamster.





	It Don't Mean a Thing (If You Ain't Got That Swing)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading this piece, which I composed for the YOI Safe Valentine's bang! It's a swing dancing au, which is a personal passion of mine, so I was incredibly excited to produce this piece. There's some AMAZING art that goes along with it, by vik-with-key (link to be added). Please, enjoy, leave nice comments, and lie and tell me my writing is good. thx.

Viktor Nikiforov is a lot of things. When he and Yuuri dance, it’s like they’re the same beast, one swinging beast with their hands tangled and feet in perfect sync. When Viktor is in uni, he’s the linguistic master with a handle on seven different languages. At parties, Viktor is the sun people rotate around. With Yuuri, he is soft and gentle, burning toast and stealing Yuuri’s sweaters. And here, in bed next to Yuuri, he’s a fucking asshole.

“Get up,” Yuuri hisses, shoving his boyfriend. Viktor moans and rolls over. “Viktor. Get the fuck up. We have practice in less than an hour. I already let you sleep in.”

Viktor rolls over, the perfect picture of innocence and serenity. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks. Yuuri is struck with a pang of love. Viktor is soft and gentle, smart and sweet. It’s hard to force him out of bed. His only vices are his chronic inability to get out of bed and his penchants for lifts when Yuuri least expects them.

He’d really love to cancel on practice, roll over and tell Phichit and Chris to take their time slot instead, and curl back up with Viktor, nuzzled into his neck, finally comfortable, except Collegiate Nationals is in 2 weeks and they still don’t have their ending sequence OR their barrel rolls down yet.

“Up,” Yuuri urges Viktor. “If we get up now, we can get Starbucks on the way.”

This gets Viktor moving. He slithers from the bed like some sort of half-melted beast and curl up onto Yuuri’s lap with a soft moan. Yuuri bends down to kiss his forehead. He eases Viktor off his lap and rises. Yuuri changes into a pair of exercise leggings and a loose t-shirt. Viktor watches from the bed with languid eyes. He follows slowly, eventually changing into a pair of dress slacks and a cuffed white shirt.

“Stop showing me up,” Yuuri teases, as he leaves the room. Viktor, styling his hair, grins.

Yuuri supposes it’s habit. Once upon a five years ago, Viktor Nikiforov was one of Russia’s rising ballet stars. He was the lead dancer for Russian National Ballet. He had sponsors and diamond watches and long, effervescent hair that spun when he twirled.

He also had a big, fat, secret. One that made the front page of the newspapers when it broke. Russia’s golden boy had gone tarnished. There was no need for a homosexual in Russia’s State Ballet.

Viktor still preens like the cameras are turned on him. He rarely leaves the house without looking polished, while Yuuri’s grad-student ass is reluctant to put on anything more than a hoodie.

Yuuri wonders what it feels like to still be haunted by the ghosts of his past. Viktor doesn’t love talking about his past – not really because it’s a bad memory, but because he doesn’t really think being the youngest lead in history is that big of a deal. He shrugs whenever Yuuri brings it up, tries to force him to take some credit for his talent and hard work. ‘It was lonely,’ is all he ever says, ‘but it was beautiful.’

Viktor is also an edgelord who takes too much pride in calling his pain beautiful and his insomnia elegant. Yuuri just wishes it wouldn’t hurt him so much.

Yuuri grabs his and Viktor’s dance bag from the floor by the front door and rests against the wall, pulling out his phone to text Phichit.

/Text to – Phichit! ❤ /  
/7:09 AM – asdfj remind me why I chose a night owl for a dance partner/

/Text from – Phichit! ❤ /  
/7:10 AM – bc u love him and we just looked at memes instead of practicing/

“Ready?” Viktor asks, standing in front of Yuuri. He still has a sleep-heavy look to his eyes, and he sways slightly. Yuuri feels bad waking him. He wonders how much sleep he got last night, if any.

They leave quietly, stepping out into the cold Detroit air.

-

Yuuri misses his catch for the fifth time today. Viktor swings out, stumbling with the momentum that has nowhere to go. Yuuri winces. The music plays on, and they step back together, attempting to recover from Yuuri’s mistake. Spin, left, backhanded pass into Charleston, kick, kick, double spin, and a jump.

Yuuri lands hard, rocks back into his heels, and bites his lower lip. The routine just isn’t flowing. Viktor feels his frustration and stops.

“You okay?” He asks, worried.

“Fine,” Yuuri snaps back. He instantly feels bad. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m just mad at myself for fucking up.”

They only have 2 weeks. Two weeks until collegiate nationals, which happen to fall on Valentine’s Day. Two weeks until both Viktor and Yuuri’s collegiate careers are over. Once last chance for Viktor to get his revenge on the dance world.

Viktor pauses the music. Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga shut up. He rarely messes up. Yuuri supposes it was beaten into his bones, perfection. He’s been swinging less time than Yuuri, and he’s already better.

“Again?” Viktor suggests, and they meet on the floor, hands clasped in their starting position.

Yuuri started dancing when he started university. He’s been going to school here in Detroit for 5 years, doing an advanced track Masters course in sports medicine. He thinks he wants to be a physical therapist, help people dance and run and walk again. He joined the club as a way to make friends, and it just so happened to be the closest one to the entrance of the Fresher’s Fair.

He didn’t compete until two years later, which freshman Phichit Chulanont, the Thai immigrant who had made a name for himself on the West coast in Strictly Lindy Hop competitions, broke onto the college scene, took a look at the dancers, and demanded that Yuuri be his partner. He’s been hooked on competition ever since.

Their first year, Yuuri and Phichit didn’t place at Nationals. The field was big, and despite their combined strengths (Yuuri’s footwork and Phichit’s lifts), they just didn’t have to polish to place. Last year, they took fifth. This year, Phichit is paired up with fellow senior Chris Giacometti, and Yuuri with Viktor.

A lot of the reason the partnerships changed was because Phichit majorly wanted to get laid. In an ironic twist of fate, Yuuri was the one who ended up getting laid, and Phichit and Chris, while incompatible partners, are pals and amazing dancers. Plus, they work well together. Better than Phichit and Yuuri did.

Yuuri steps into rhythm with Viktor as they start moving again. Viktor’s concentrated face makes Yuuri crack a smile, but he’s spun too fast to relish in it. Viktor is never more graceful than when he’s dancing. It was his first love, but Yuuri hopes he will be his last.

They’ve been together for almost two years. They loved each other long before they danced for each other. Yuuri is the one who pulled Viktor into swing, the one who first taught him that there was an outlet in dance that wasn’t all classical music and broken toes. Falling in love had been as easy at Lindy Hop – a steady pattern of ‘one two three one two three.’ Simple. Rhythmic. Gentle.

And because Viktor is the sappiest human alive, and because the universe loves a laugh, their anniversary falls on the date of Nationals – February fourteenth. The date of nationals. So they either get to celebrate their two years with a gold medal or bust. They’re both graduating this year – Yuuri with his masters and Viktor with his Bachelors. Viktor started late, caught up dancing in Russia instead of his studies. Yuuri is just a grad student from Hatsetsu who really just wants a job that isn’t retail or customer service.

This time, Yuuri doesn’t miss his lift cue, and leaps just in time for Viktor to catch him, toss him into his arms, and ‘roll’ him out. Swing is more about feeling than specific movements. Yuuri is high on the feeling of the music.

Half of their routine is planned, and the rest is interpretation. They don’t get a choice in music for the competition, so they practice to everything, piecing together half-built routines to use at the right moments in their performance. It’s just that barrel rolls are SO cool and Yuuri is SO bad at realizing Viktor’s cue for them. And Viktor’s footwork isn’t as quick as it needs to be – sometimes he still hovers like a ballet dancer, poised on his toes instead of the balls of his feet. And god – their ending sequences. Yuuri doesn’t even want to think about those.

They swing through the end of the song with no casualties. Viktor is panting at the end of it.

“Tired, old man?” Yuuri teases. Viktor rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. Yuuri switches off the music and takes a sip of water from his dance bag.

Yuuri’s been told that you should never ever date your dance partner multitudes of times. Until Viktor, he always obeyed it and thought it would never work. But Viktor? Viktor is different. Viktor gets him – understand him. And even when they fight, they always patch it up so quickly.

“Dinner tonight with the boys?” Yuuri suggests, glancing through his unread messages on his phone, “Chris is hosting in his apartment.”

Chris, conveniently, generally hosts. He has an entire 2 bedroom apartment to himself, after his ex-boyfriend stormed out and (literally) threw a Cartier watch at him in anger. Chris sold it and uses it to pay for rent and pizza now. Sometimes, Yuuri can’t believe that Chris’ life is actually real. For example, he has a magical ability to only date rich men who take him on expensive ski trips to Switzerland. This seems like a one-off example, but it’s actually happened three times now. Or how he always passes his exams without a care in the world while Yuuri is crying in the library. Or like. How he can do aerials with Phichit with his pinky finger and ALWAYS catch him. Yuuri is still bruised from the last time that Viktor dropped him. On accident, of course. And then made him dinner afterwards. And kissed him better. And then –

“Let’s just practice some lifts,” Viktor suggests, “we’re good with interpretation, but we’re going to lose points if we miss a catch, or even fumble.”

Yuuri nods, turning back to Viktor. They clasp hands, and Yuuri leans in for a quick kiss. Their lips brush softly, and Viktor tastes like sweat and cherry chapstick. Then, the separate, and the dance begins.

-

Viktor and Yuuri are late to Phichit’s, to no one’s surprise. Chris swings over the back of the chair and grins when they enter, raising a slice of pizza as a toast to their arrival.

“Late!” A young voice calls from the couch. “Assholes.”

Yurio appears, rising from the coach. A sophomore in the local high school, Yurio clings to Viktor like a long-lost brother. They’re both Russian expatriates, Yurio adopted by their swing coach, Yakov, when he was five.

When Yurio met Viktor two years ago, it was practically brotherhood at first sight. The teen was bitter and scathing, eager to snap at anyone and everyone close to him. In an odd way, Viktor was the only one who could really control Yurio. Yakov just yelled, Yuuri tended to avoid Yurio at all costs, but Viktor? Treated Yurio like an equal. A competitor. A dance partner. A prodigy.

Viktor had a talent for seeing more in people than they saw in themselves. Yuuri looks at his hands, one tangled with Viktor’s. He never would have imagined that he could have landed himself someone like Viktor, and he never thought someone would stay with him through all his highs and lows.

Yuuri and Viktor slide onto the couch and grab a slice of pizza each. Otabek lays on the floor, a college freshman who joined their little group after he proved to be one of the only people whose Yurio’s digs went unaffected. They’re close friends now, and dance partners too.

Outside of the collegiate league, there’s tons of other dance competitions that Yurio and Otabek compete in, since Yurio isn’t in university yet. Yuuri supposes that after uni, he and Viktor could join either the Pro of Amateur leagues and keep competing, yet still – he traces the corduroy of the couch – there’s some sort of pride in winning the tournament that’s been kept from them for long. And besides, who knows how much time they’re going to have to dance between getting their careers started?

Phichit shifts forward to mess with his computer and plugs in a cable. The TV lights up to the opening screen of Swing Kids.

Yuuri groans, and Viktor laughs.

“Phichit, again?” Yuuri moans. Swing Kids is one of the most iconic swing movies, one that always leaves Yuuri a sobbing mess. It’s also Phichit’s favorite movie, and one they’ve watched at least 50 times.

“It’ll get us in the mood for nationals!” Phichit cheers, and presses play. “And besides, Yurio hasn’t seen it yet!”

From across the room, Yurio snickers. “Going to cry again, Yuuri? I hear you do every time.”

Viktor wraps a protective arm around Yuuri. “Yes,” Viktor proclaims, “he’s definitely going to cry.” Yuuri play shoves Viktor, and he laughs, a deep rumble. Yuuri ends up tucked closer into his chest.

 

By the end of the film, everyone is crying. Yuuri sneaks a peak at Yurio, who even appears to be hastily wiping his eyes. Phichit cries freely and silently, mouthing the words of the final song. Yuuri, for all he is trying to cry quietly, lets out tiny sobs occasionally.

Viktor cries like a swan. Elegant, poised. A single tear runs down his cheek. Poetic asshole, Yuuri thinks, as he hiccups into Viktor’s sweater.

They lounge on various surfaces of Phichit’s apartment after, chatting.

“Anyone feel even vaguely ready for nationals?” Phichit asks from his position on the couch. “Because it feels surreal.”

Viktor snorts. “At least it’s not your last time competing. This is Yuuri and I’s last shot.”

“Have fun eating that silver medal,” Chris interjects. “Gold is ours. Good luck beating our lifts.”

“Lifts aren’t the whole world,” Viktor snorts.

“You’re only saying that because you’ve dropped Yuuri at least 10 times by now.”

“Hey! Untrue.”

Yuuri hums. “Definitely true. I have the bruises to show for it.”

Viktor pouts. “You’re supposed to back me up.”

“And you’re supposed to catch me.”

Yurio snickers. “Need some aloe for that burn, old man?”

They spend the next few hours just laying and chatting, enjoying each other’s presence. Viktor is the one to break the spell. He check his watch and winces. “Yuuri, it’s 2am. We have a lesson with Yakov at 8.” Yuuri groans internally. He has no doubt that Yakov is going to destroy them tomorrow.

He’s a world-renowned swing dancer turned coach after a car accident that left him with a permanent limp. Also a Russian expatriate who left after a messy divorce, he’s created a name for their university. He also runs a studio that he trains the likes of Yurio and Otabek out of.

Sometimes, Yuuri wonders what would happen if he and Viktor opened their own dance studio. Between Yuuri’s knowledge of swing and, (yikes!) pole dancing, and Viktor’s ballet and swing experience, Yuuri thinks they could get a few other types of coaches and get a successful studio running. He dreams of moving somewhere warm, maybe California, and living in a house with a big backyard, lots of dogs, and a few tiny Viktors/Yuuris.

Besides, with his sports medicine degree, he could probably run the studio and work part-time as well at a local clinic. It could work.

He gazes across the room to Viktor. He thinks of dancing with him, swinging, their faces pressed together. He thinks about watching Viktor stretching against a ballet bar, half broken body moving like a puppet with cut strings.

 

Later that night, when Yuuri wakes up alone in his bed, he creeps downstairs to the dance studio. He finds Viktor in the studio, dancing to his old Bolshoi Swan Lake Routine in the dark. Yuuri thinks Viktor’s eyes must have been closed, because he never noticed Yuuri leaning against the door frame, watching with tears gathering in his eyes.

He knows that Viktor misses it. Dancing, ballet, was his first love, what got him through the lonely drag of a big city full of empty people. ‘Could he ever be happy without dancing?’ Yuuri had thought, watching Viktor spin and leap. ‘Could he ever really give this up to teach languages in a classroom? And what if I’m ready to settle down but he isn’t?’

Realistically, Yuuri knows that Viktor could go pro in any style dancing he chose. He could always pick up ballet, back his bags, and move to New York. He could find a new partner, someone who always landed in his arms for lifts, and chase the international swing scene.

Yuuri had never been jealous of Viktor’s dancing. He saw him as a god of ballet, but an equal in swing. But watching him dance across that dark floor, in that moment, he realizes that Viktor is something that he is not. Some greater kind of dancer, some greater kind of human.

He treads back upstairs, letting Viktor dance in peace. Just because they’re dating doesn’t mean that Viktor can’t have his own secrets and sadness.

-

Yakov drills an exhausted Viktor and Yuuri the next morning. The dance floor that Viktor had swept so gracefully over the night is covered in splatters of sweat from the boys.

“Seperately!” Yakov yells, “again!” It’s footwork day – something that Yuuri generally excels at. Across the floor, Viktor’s teeth are gritted as he stumbles through the complicated foot patterns.

Yuuri dances through the movements, holding his arms up as if he’s anchored to Viktor’s shoulders. Since the Russian is taller, he’s the lead, Yuuri the sweeping follow. Plus, Yuuri has better footwork, and more chances to show it off, and Viktor is far better at aerials.

But today, Yuuri is tired and distracted. He watches Viktor out of the corner of his eye, swinging in near tandem. He didn’t know that Viktor missed ballet. He rarely talks about Russia and Bolshi. Yuuri doesn’t want to pry, but suddenly he aches to know what Viktor is hiding. What Viktor doesn’t want to show him from ballet.

“Viktor, faster,” Yakov hisses, “you’re dancing like a prima ballerina again.”

‘Isn’t he?’ Yuuri thinks. ‘Is he only swinging because of me? Am I holding him back?’

-

Yuuri corners Yakov after practice to ask what he knows about Viktor’s past. He knows he should really be asking Viktor directly, but it’s too hard to look him in the eyes and ask if he’s been sacrificing his love of dance and ballet for Yuuri’s sake for the last year.

Viktor has darted off to go to the grocery store with a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head. This isn’t unusual, Yuuri generally stays late to stretch and watch later dancers. Yuuri promises to be home soon and watches him careen out the door.

Yakov’s eyes dart when Yuuri asks what he knows about Viktor’s past as a ballet dancer.

“Shouldn’t you be asking him?” He responds gruffly.

Yuuri shrugs. “He doesn’t really like talking about it. I don’t want to push.”

“Then he clearly doesn’t need to talk about it, eh?”

But Yuuri needs to know. Yuuri needs to know if this competition is really going to “win back my love of dance,” quote Viktor. Is he holding him back from something bigger. Why was Viktor practicing Swan Lake in the dead of night, like he was preparing for an audition? And why won’t he tell Yuuri?

“Please,” Yuuri begs. “It’s important.”

Yakov has always been soft on Yuuri for some reason, so he obliges.

This is what he learns: Viktor was shoved into the Bolshoi training program by his parents at a very young age. They were very rich and wanted an illustrious son. He had an older sister, a distinguished state piano player. No better family than one of elite artists, or so they thought. Viktor took to dancing like a fish takes to water, soared. Things got out of hand quickly, though. Viktor stopped coming home for breaks by the time he was 12, working himself day and night to be the best. Soon, the Nikiforov family had all but lost their son to dancing. In the meantime, Viktor soared through the ranks, landing himself the leading role in Swan Lake, the role of the princess at that, when he was just 15. He was the youngest, and the most popular, lead that Bolshoi had ever had. Feminine, but boyish, graceful, but powerful. He was incredible and revered.

Then, his father fell ill with a mysterious disease. Viktor Nikiforov, hours away in Moscow, was the Nikiforov fortune’s heir at age 16. He stopped eating, closed in on himself, and danced until his feet were ruined. By the time the press found out about his homosexuality, it was a miracle that Viktor was able to dance at all. He’d lost his passion for dance, his love for music, and his body was breaking down.

Yakov runs a hand through his grizzled hair. “As you know, he didn’t dance for his first two years of university?”

Yuuri nods. 

“Anyways,” Yakov continues, “when Viktor saw you swinging at that party, he fell back in love with you and dance.”

Viktor had told him this much. He just didn’t know about all the rest – his past.

“Yakov? Last night, Viktor wasn’t in bed. I came down here, and he was dancing in the dark. To Swan Lake.” Yuuri stumbles over his words. “I – I think he might be thinking about taking ballet back up.”

A few students in Yakov’s next class trickle in, joking amongst each other. Yuuri wonders how they can ignore the tension in the room.

Yakov kind of stares at Yuuri for a moment, then slowly replies. “Like I said, Yuuri. Talk to him. And besides, does it really matter if he picks ballet back up?”

‘But why wouldn’t he tell me,’ Yuuri begs, but Yakov has already turned away. Dejected, Yuuri grabs his bag and leaves the studio.

Yuuri doesn’t mind Viktor ballet dancing again – why would he? He loves Viktor, and he thinks everything he does is beautiful. He really only minds if like? Viktor is going to go try out for a big ballet company and leave him or move away or something. And if Viktor has been holding himself back this whole time just to give Yuuri nationals? That’s what bothers him about the whole situation.

He climbs upstairs, to the studio they rent from Yakov, and sits down at the kitchen table. The discarded pile of mail that Viktor must have brought in earlier sits in front of him. Halfheartedly, Yuuri sorts through it. It’s mainly junk mail, a few bills, and –

A letter. Addressed to Viktor. With the New York City Ballet Company written as the sender.

Yuuri feels hollow. He sets the letter back down, shoves the bills and junk on top of it, and stands up. He’ll ask Viktor about it tonight. He’s sure it’s all just one big misunderstanding and Viktor wouldn’t leave him to go to New York and start a new life and make new friends and find a new boyfriend and a new apartment and –

The front door opens. Viktor enters, arms heavy with shopping bags teeming with brightly colored groceries. Yuuri feels sick. He stands up, shoving the chair back behind him. Viktor is saying something. He tries to tune in, tries to focus, tries to respond. The words don’t come. He is aware of a crashing noise behind him. The chair, falling backwards, maybe? Viktor is there, suddenly, his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. He’s hyperventilating.

Viktor brings him to the floor, and they sit. It takes Yuuri a moment to get his breath back. He feels heavy, like his limbs are laced with lead.

Viktor’s voice comes through, like he’s tuning into a radio channel and finally getting through the static.

“…Yuuri? You’re okay. It’s okay. You’re safe, you’re safe.”

Yuuri nods and swallows. He fumbles into Viktor’s arms, pulling him into a hug. Viktor obliges, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s back and holding him tightly. Time begins moving at a regular pace. He is aware of his breathing, of Viktor’s heartbeat hammering through his body. He can feel the tips of his fingers trembling just slightly, the softness of Viktor’s sweater under them.

“Are you moving to New York?” He asks. Viktor stiffens under him.

Dammit. Yuuri hadn’t wanted to bring it up like this. He wanted to break it softly, ask gently about Viktor and ballet, offer his support for whatever he chose to do. Because Yuuri would support Viktor no matter what he chose to do. He’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked.

Viktor pulls back. He wraps one hand around Yuuri’s wrist and pulls him to the living room couch. There, they sit, and Yuuri studies the elaborate fabric of the Persian rug under Yuuri’s shitty college student couch. Two different worlds, colliding in his own living room.

“I got an offer from the New York City Ballet,” Viktor says cautiously. “To join their company and dance for them.”

Yuuri had figured this much. “When do you leave?” He asks.

“I haven’t accepted,” Viktor replies. “There’s a lot to think about.”

Yuuri studies Viktor’s eyes, worried and wide. “I wanted to talk it over with you before I made any decisions.”

“Vik-” Yuuri pauses. “Why didn’t you tell me? That you didn’t want to swing anymore? That you were wasting this season when you could have been doing ballet?”

It hurts, knowing he’s been holding Viktor back. That no matter how much he wants to be by Viktor’s side in everything, this one, integral thing, he can’t be a part of.

“I do still want to swing!” Viktor cries, “I love dancing with you. I love swing. I just –” he fumbles for the right words. “Dancing swing got my love for dance back. And I just. Yuuri, my heart is in ballet. It always has been. I sent in an audition tape to the New York Ballet Company not really thinking anything of it, and they want me. They want to fly me out and watch me dance next weekend.”

Next weekend is the weekend before nationals.

“I want to do it. I think we can still win nationals.”

Yuuri hesitates. Nationals is all he’s wanted for the last 5 years, and now his partner wants to skip off to New York for a weekend to try out for a ballet company. As his dance partner, Yuuri is furious. As his boyfriend, Yuuri is already packing his suitcase.

“Well,” Yuuri says, raising his eyes, “I won’t be mad as long as you don’t drop me at nationals.”

Viktor lets out a relieved laugh. “Really? You’re not upset?”

To be fair, Yuuri thought that Viktor was going to skip off and leave him. How could he be mad at Viktor for going out and chasing his dreams?

“I’m not upset,” Yuuri confirms. “I’m proud.”

-

Yuuri lays in bed, sheets settled and tangled just below his hips, panting. Viktor is half sprawled across him, panting, his breath ricocheting off Yuuri’s marked neck. Yuuri bends into Viktor, curling into his limber body.

Tell me, he thinks, about what makes you weak, and I will show you what makes me strong.

“Vik?” Yuuri asks. “I hope you don’t mind, but I talked to Yakov about your past as a ballet dancer.”

Viktor doesn’t even stiffen. He just reaches out an arm to sling over Yuuri’s exposed flesh and pulls him closer with an ‘oomph.’

“I know,” Viktor responds, “he told me. And he told me you were worried that I was going to leave.”

Yuuri tightens. Vulnerability is not his strong suit, even after all this time in Viktor’s arms.

Viktor squeezes. “He texted me. I didn’t know he knew how to text. Usually he just calls to scream.”

There is fondness in Viktor’s voice. Yakov is the closest thing that Viktor has to a father, now.

“He’s the one who filmed my audition tape.” Yakov used to be married to one of the ballet teachers in Bolshoi. She’s the reason Viktor picked Detriot, tipped off while fleeing into the night that there were people who would welcome him with open arms in a strange country. Yuuri may have moved here from Japan, but it was his own will that pushed him. Viktor – he’s had it a lot harder.

“I just.” Viktor hesitates. He’s gazing up at the ceiling know, rolled onto his back, exposed. He looks oddly young, laying on a bed of pillow with blush-pink cheeks. Vulnerable. “I feel like I never really got to end my story the way I wanted to you know? I want one more chance to make things right. One more show.”

Yuuri nods. He knows how it feels. After years of messing up at competitions because of nerves and letting his various dance partners down, this is Yuuri’s last hurrah. For fuck’s sake, he spent the last tournament with Viktor crying in the bathroom until the minute they were due on stage, and then it was OBVIOUS he’d been crying the entire time because his eyes were so red and puffy. And he fucked up and missed one of their spins. (They still took second but STILL. On principle it was a disaster).

“I want to see you dance,” Yuuri decides. “Show me your audition tape.”

Slowly, Viktor rises. “Come,” he says, and pulls on a pair of discarded sweats and a loose t-shirt. Yuuri follows suit, throwing on the nearest clothes. They grab the key from the ring by the door, and traverse downstairs to the studio.

Yuuri flicks the lights on, and Viktor starts stretching. The studio hums with quiet energy, like it is waiting to sing. An unborn orchestra, in it’s moment of birth. Here, Yuuri has made his best memories during university. Here, with Yakov yelling at him from across the room, arms posed on another boy’s, Yuuri has found himself and his reprise from the world. And here, he is about to discover something more.

Viktor pads over to the stereo system and plugs in his phone. Yuuri leans against the back wall. The music begins, the key piece from Swan Lake. And then, he begins to dance.

It is no different from the way he swing dances. The same fluid motions, the sweeping grace, the poise and power. It’s just to different music. He dances as if his partner is himself, wrapping himself in his own arms, leaping, flexing, and then slipping into the splits – bending backwards, rolling back to his feet. He moves like something perfectly inhuman, just on the border of real and fake.

Yuuri understands, now. Why Viktor demands to make his mark one last time on the ballet world. The music is part of him. The dance is him.

He is heaving when the music finishes. Yuuri watches as Viktor folds himself into his ending pose and stays. A marble statue, cast in the light of a wooden floor and small dance studio. He claps, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has to break the glass silence of the room without touching Viktor, without breaking him.

Viktor comes down from his pose and smiles.

“You liked it?” He still seeks Yuuri’s approval, despite being a god.

Yuuri can only nod. “You’re dazzling.”

Viktor smiles, and pads over to him. He pulls his phone from his pocket and presses play. The opening chords of Swan Lake begin again.

“Come,” Viktor beckons, pulling Yuuri toward him. He swings Yuuri under his arm, and dips him. It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that Viktor is about to make him swing to Swan Lake.

“This feels sacrilegious,” Yuuri says, mouth parted as he swivels.

Viktor laughs. “Doesn’t it?” He says giddily. Perhaps this is some sort of odd healing for Viktor, but Yuuri doesn’t care. He’s swung to some strange music before, but never one of the key pieces of classical music.

They dance until the song ends. There is no pressure to be perfect, no pressure to make every catch, to use their fanciest moves. It is just the fluidity of the music they chase. Sometimes, Viktor will add in ballet to his routine, leaping or pirouetting where kicks and spins used to be. It’s a strange symphony. Yuuri wonders what would happen if they used a swing/ballet fusion in competition.

When the song ends, they collapse in half laughter, half kisses on the center of the floor.

-

There is a lot to be said for practice the next morning. First, they’re so tired that Viktor keeps zoning out and getting his toes stepped on, and then Yakov is in a bad mood for god knows what reason, and finally Yuuri can’t get the idea of mixing swing and ballet out of his head. It could win them nationals. It could be the missing key that makes them stand out just enough to win.

Then again, it could be a disaster. The judges could hate it. Yuuri watches Viktor’s focused eyes as they swing around. Yuuri is reminded how lucky he is when Viktor steps on his toes and yelps, breaking stride to reach his hand to Yuuri’s face and cup his cheek carefully.

“Sorry!” He pants, “Are you okay, sunshine?”

“DANCE!” Yakov shouts from the sidelines. “He’ll survive!”

They fall back into rhythm.

Yuuri brings it up after class.

Yakov stares at Yuuri and Viktor, head tilted, frown perfectly etched onto his features.

“Let me get this straight,” he says slowly, “you want to try and throw in a pirouette at nationals.”

Yuuri nods. Viktor stands next to him, looking half hesitant and half eager. “I think it would be a fitting goodbye to swing.”

The idea came to Yuuri when they were sprawled on the floor after dancing. He had wondered what would happen if they did a swing/ballet fusion but swing already incorporates spins. All they must do is insert the spins as pirouettes, and it could work.

“It’s a risk,” Yakov says. “You’re all stupid.”

Viktor calls to Yakov’s retreating back, but he doesn’t answer. Yakov disappears into his office and slams the door.

“He didn’t say no?” Yuuri offers.

Viktor just laughs. “I think we should do it.” He pulls Yuuri back onto the gleaming hardwood. “We can start it like,” he pushes Yuuri under his arm. “Swivel around me when I do it,” he commands. Yuuri obliges, swiveling in a circle around Viktor, who takes a deep breath and raises his arms. He turns fiercely, and Yuuri continues around him. He feels himself tugged suddenly, and then he’s back in Viktor’s arms, panting in surprise.

“It worked,” Yuuri comments, and Viktor releases him.

“Thanks Yuuri. I pride myself on not being a shit lead.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes.

-

The time between the decision to incorporate Viktor’s pirouettes and the actual start of nationals goes very quickly. Before Yuuri has blinked, he’s stuffing his clothes into a duffel bag and shouting at Viktor to hurry before they miss their flight. Spoiler alert – they make it, but Phichit has a hamster crisis and ends up having to fly in later to New York later. All chaos considered, it is pretty funny.

Their hotel room isn’t particularly lush. There’s two single beds, which Yuuri and Viktor immediately push together, toss their bags on, and take off to bother Chris, who is still shouting about ‘fucking hamsters’ to everyone within earshot. Yakov, of course, is livid at everyone and everything, and Viktor gets super shouted at when Yakov catches him getting a coke out of the vending machine.

After several hours of chaos, Phichit getting screamed at via telephone, a Skype hamster funeral (RIP Nugget), and rescheduled flight, the gang is reunited. They convene in their usual meeting place, the hotel pool.

It’s February in New York. Which means it’s freezing, a bitter cold that nips at your bones and hammers into your muscles when the wind comes sweeping through.

“I’ll give you five dollars to strip and jump into the pool,” Chris says to Viktor as they recline in the jacuzzi.

“Don’t,” Yuuri warns, at the same time Viktor says, “deal.”

Viktor rapidly sheds his swim trunks, looks around to see if there is anyone else planning to take a dip in a freezing pool in the dark, and then leaps into the water.

Chris and Phichit cheer, and Yuuri half groans, half cheers. His boyfriend is dumb, cute, and probably going to come down with a nasty cold.

Viktor comes up yelping. “Shit! Cold! Shit! Fuck! Cold!” He grabs the rim of the jacuzzi and launches himself into the warm water of the jacuzzi – and goes straight to Yuuri’s lap.

“Cold!” Yuuri cries, as Viktor’s half-frozen body smashes against his in the least-sexy way possible for a naked boyfriend to do.

Chris is cackling, Phichit is filming the entire debacle, and Yuuri is freezing.

They all settle into the jacuzzi and its warmth. Yuuri watches the boys around him and wishes he had more time. More time to dance, more time to spend in hotel pools, cackling over bad jokes and romantic escapades.

He wishes he had more time with Viktor, because who knows what’s coming next for them. Yuuri decides that no matter what happens, where they each end up going, he loves Viktor and he’s proud of him no matter what.

He wonders if he should cut Viktor free. Let him go without having to worry about the boyfriend he left at home. Let him go chase his dance career.

Viktor is laughing, open-mouthed and glorious. He is beautiful, immortal, some kind of god. How could he give this up? How could he lose this man?

That night, as they lay in bed, bodies tangled and warm, covering each other in open mouthed kisses and soft touches, Yuuri’s thoughts wander back.

“Hey, Viktor?” Yuuri says softly, pulling away slightly. “What does you going to New York for ballet mean for us?”

It’s there now, out in the open, words gathering dust in the air.

Viktor shifts onto his elbows, silver hair dangling into his eyes. “I hoped you’d consider coming with me,” he replies.

Yuuri hesitates to consider.

He’d planned on leaving Detriot eventually. He could probably – definitely – find work there, and maybe even a swing coaching job on the side. Plus, New York is big and bright and full of good food. On the con side, it means living Phichit, leaving behind the world he knows, risking everything to follow someone else’s dreams.

“I think we could make that work,” Yuuri says finally, slowly, a soft smile creeping over his lips. “I think I would like New York.”

“I don’t have the part yet,” Viktor protests. “We’re not sure yet.”

Yuuri rolls into Viktor. “You’re going to get it. You’re one of the most revered dancers in the world. Of course you’re going to get it.”

Viktor smiles, one hand resting on Yuuri’s hip. “I am pretty good, aren’t I?”

He gets a shove in response. And then they are wrapped up in each other, warm and safe and ready for the big day ahead.

-

Yurio is the one who is responsible for waking Viktor and Yuuri up. They are awoken to the sound of someone furiously banging on the door, which is really not the most peaceful way to wake up on the morning of the biggest dance competition of their life.

“You get it,” Yuuri mumbles into his pillow, shoving Viktor in the side. Viktor, never the morning person, moans and half rolls half stumbles out of bed. He’s wearing an oversized tee shirt, one of Yuuri’s, and his boxers.

For Yakov, this would be no strange sight. The last 30 years of coaching have exposed him to far worse than Viktor and Yuuri. For Yuri Plisetsky, small and fiery, this is something completely unacceptable.

Yurio slams the door on his face, cheeks red. Yuri can still be heard shouting outside about his eyes, how he needs bleach, and how disgusting they are.

“Sorry!” Viktor shouts through the door. “We’ll be down in a half hour.”

The shouting continues for several minutes, with various different expletives. Yuuri laughs from the inside, while Viktor leans against the door and mimes Yurio’s rage. By the time Yuri has stormed off to go bother someone else, the shower is running, Viktor is stepping into the shower, and Yuuri is up and beginning to press his shirt for the competition.

His hands shake ever so slightly as he does. He can hear Viktor singing in the shower, It Don’t Mean A Thing, the anthem from Swing Kids.

It’s about sacrificing yourself for the sake of something you love.

It’s about giving it all to prove that love, music, dance, and freedom prevail at the end of the day.

It’s hard to iron his shirt with how his hands are trembling.

He is ready. God, Yuuri is ready to take the stage and dance. And he can’t wait to give it everything that he has. He just hopes that it gives back, that he isn’t left swinging alone on the stage at the end of the day, Viktor spinning off to a different state and leaving him behind, getting buried in his student debts, and literally dying alone.

Viktor emerges from the shower, a towel tied artfully around his waist.

Yuuri has been ironing around the gems on his black shirt for the last five minutes.

“You okay?” Viktor asks, watching Yuuri re-iron his cuffs for the third time.

“Anxiety,” Yuuri replies stoutly. “Pre-competition nerves. Nothing new.”

Viktor creeps closer, slips on an undershirt and his pair of navy slacks (he always irons the night before. They each have their own rituals.) and slides his arms around Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri flips the shirt, focuses on keeping the lines crisp and straight. Viktor presses a kiss to the base of his neck and rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. The weight is comforting, a steady presence that helps Yuuri to breathe and relax. He exhales steadily and switches the iron off.

“Happy 2 years, my love,” Viktor says gently. Yuuri smiles and leans back into Viktor’s warm presence.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he replies. “I adore you, but I really need to do this before Yakov kills us. We can celebrate once we win.” Viktor lowers one hand to brush Yuuri’s ass before replacing it to his shoulders. Yuuri laughs gently, nerves slightly abated, and turns back to his ironing.

His black shirt is embellished with flat diamond silver studs around the shoulders. He tucks it into black slacks and laces up his suspenders. He settles in front of the mirror and begins tying his bow tie.

Viktor is dressed too, black shirt with a blue vest and a normal blue tie. Together, they look very 1940-stormcloud. Or at least that’s what Phichit says.

Chris and Phichit are already downstairs when they emerge. Phichit is on his phone, typing furiously, while Chris stirs his hotel cereal with disinterest. Yakov is barking on the phone in the corner, and Yurio is surrounded by empty coffee cups.

Yuuri wonders how he hasn’t had a heart attack yet, with all the black coffee the kid drinks.

“Good morning, sunshines,” Chris greets the duo when he looks up from his soggy mess. A nervous grin flits over his face. It’s odd to see Chris anything other than his usual charismatic self, but Yuuri supposes that the competition nerves are getting to everyone.

“I can’t believe you came to the fucking door half naked,” Yurio groans into a cup of coffee. “I’m drowning myself in caffeine now, you’re welcome.” Phichit snorts and sets his phone down.

“You look snazzy,” Chris says, wriggling his eyebrows. Yuuri has known him long enough to know he’s nervous.

Viktor laughs, says something about getting food, and sashays off. Yuuri settles down next to Phichit, watching him type out what appears to be a long memorial post to his dead hamster, Nugget.

“I’m sorry about Nugget,” Yuuri offers. He’s pretty sure that little fucker bit him at least 3 times. He doesn’t know why Phichit is really mourning it – he has much nicer hamsters than dead Nugget, may God Rest His Soul.

Phichit shrugs. “I’m going to go out and dance for him,” he says, “it will be a fierce and fitting memorial to such a cantankerous critter.”

Yuuri hums in response, as Viktor returns with a plate of fruit for Yuuri, and what appears to be a waffle covered in a mound of whipped cream for himself. Yuuri takes a bite of cantaloupe and leans across the table to steal one of Yurio’s cups of coffee.

“Fuck off,” the teenager spits, but makes no move to stop him. “How are you all feeling about today? No one better mess up their spins, okay? Or I’ll personally kill you.”

Yuuri groans. “You have full permission to kill me if I miss a spin. And PLEASE kill Viktor if he drops me.”

“I’m not going to drop you!” Viktor cries back, “I’m offended!”

Chris laughs. “If anyone is going to win for aerials, it’s us.” He reaches across the table to fist-bump Phichit, who appears to have finished his hamster memorial and has set his phone down.

Yakov returns to the table, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“Morning,” he says gruffly. “You all well rested?”

Four heads nod back at him.

“No,” Yurio interjects, “you snore. I didn’t sleep at all.” Yakov shoots him a murderous glace and Yurio huffs, folding his arms and returns to nursing his coffee.

Yakov announces that they are leaving in 10 minutes, to make sure to eat, and to meet him in the foyer, and if anyone is late he “will sic Yurio on them.” He scuttles off to go have a smoke.

The boys sit at the table, no one quite knowing what to say. Chris keeps playing with his soggy cereal. Phichit turns his phone over in his hands. Yuuri munches half-heartedly on an orange slice. Yurio taps a pen against the table. Viktor, the only one who seems to be unperturbed, continues happily eating his mountain of whipped cream.

It’s fitting that Viktor is the only one that isn’t nervous. He’s been in far more stressful scenarios, and besides, he has a dance career after this. Yuuri can’t help but be jealous of his future. He feels like the whole world is about to be thrown into chaos as soon as this competition ends.

Not to say that he’s had a one-track mind throughout university all based on winning Swing Nationals, but it’s always been a goal that keeps him going, pushing, working out at the gym and spending long hours perfecting his art. Now, with the end creeping near, it’s almost as if Yuuri has a degree in something he doesn’t care about and no way to work his passion.

And god, now he may be moving to New York. And as exciting as that is, it’s similarly terrifying. He watches Viktor devour the last of his waffle. But Viktor is worth it. And Yuuri knows that he can work wherever he goes. But Viktor? He doesn’t want to lose Viktor.

“Let’s go,” Yurio announces, pulling his phone from his pocket. It’s odd, having a 15 year old leader.

They all rise and follow Yurio, hands tucked into their pockets, slicking their hair back nervously.

Yakov is waiting in the foyer, tapping his foot on the ground. “I called a taxi,” he announces, “let’s go.”

It’s showtime.

-

They breeze through their first round. They aren’t allowed to throw in any lifts until the final round, so they don’t add their pirouettes in either. It’s just good old fashioned swing, spins and weight bearing moves, fancy footwork and a dash of Charleston here and there. They take first, moving into the semifinals.

Yuuri recognizes a few people in the semis with them, namely Guong Hong and Michele Crispino, two dancers with respective partners who have been on the circuit for ages. He waves hi to them before their dance starts, but once they’re in competition mode, Yuuri can’t afford to spare them a second glance. He has work to do.

This dance goes a little rougher than their first round. Yuuri is a little late on a catch, and it throws Viktor off balance. Viktor, thank god, saves it by forcing them both into a dip and straight into Charleston. Still, Yuuri curses himself for the rest of the round, watching the rest of the dancers fly through perfect routines. He can’t believe he fucked up something as simple as a catch out of a spin. That’s a basic move.

Viktor presses his fingers against his back and leans over to whisper in his ear.

“They won’t be able to tell, Yuuri. The dip after saved us. We’re fine.”

If they get knocked out because of Yuuri’s stupid mistake, he’s going to be so pissed.

They line the 6 pairs up for results, and call in reverse order. Crispino takes 3rd, and then it’s just Guong Hong and his partner and Yuuri and Viktor left. Only the winners advance to the finals. Yuuri’s fists are clenched so tight that his knuckles have gone white. Viktor is visibly trying not to wince from the pain of Yuuri gripping his hand.

“And in first place, advancing to the finals,” the announcer calls. Yuuri can see Yurio in the crowd, hands covering his mouth in a silent prayer. Yakov, as usual, looks emotionless and moderately pissed.

“Is Katsuki and Nikiforov! Congratulations!”

“Fuck,” Viktor swears next to him, “I told you.” But the way he hugs Yuuri, still half shaking, tells Yuuri that he was nervous too. They congratulate Guong Hong, hugging the stoic boy, who claps them on their backs and wishes them lucky, and tumble off the stage.

Yurio meets them at the exit. “I’m going to physically murder you if you scare me like that again,” he threatens, pressing a finger to Yuuri’s chest. “You’re better than a late catch and a messy dip.”

Yuuri runs a hand through his slicked-back hair. “I know,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

Viktor wraps his arms protectively around Yuuri. “Hush, Yurio, he was brilliant. I’m equally to blame.”

“You’re right, you lost the rhythm in your third Charleston and your footwork was shitty compared to Yuuri’s, as usual,” Yurio bites.

Yakov follows behind, watching Yurio chewing out Viktor and Yuuri. “It appears I have a replacement as a coach,” he says darkly. “You two better step it up for the finals. Competition is rough. Phichit and Chris are going into sudden death on B stage right now for a spot in the finals. They’re getting their asses handed to them by JJ and Isabella.”

Yurio’s face darkens. “I hate them,” he says resolutely.

JJ and Isabella have been the swing couple to beat this year. Just college freshmen, JJ has incredible talent, and his girlfriend, Isabella, is incredibly suave and charming. They have a way with the judges that infuriates Yurio, and plus, JJ can be incredibly cocky.

It’s even worse than Phichit and Chris may not make the finals. Yuuri winces at the idea of two of swing’s best competitors getting ousted in the semis. They must have been unlucky in their draw to be up against JJ.

Yuuri and Viktor follow Yakov and Yurio to B stage, where Phichit and Chris are dancing for their lives. The sudden death round only comes in because both dancers received identical scores from the panel of judges, and is a shortened dance they perform in order to determine who will advance. There are no limits to the moves they can use, meaning if Phichit and Chris can pull off some impressive lifts, they could win the competition.

JJ and Isabella are up fist. Yuuri can see Phichit and Chris in the background, chattering in hushed whispers, most likely about what they’re going to pull out of the repertoire to wow the judges.

As usual, JJ is flawless, a steady lead and Isabella a gorgeous follow. She has flourish, but it isn’t overwhelming. JJ throws her into a few tricky situations, which she easily dances out of, but it’s noticeable. His nerves are clearly coming through in his performance, which is weird for JJ. They finish with dual bows and skip off the stage, JJ clearly looking rather distraught.

“C’mon,” Yurio mutters next to them, “just don’t fuck it up.”

“Watch your fu- language,” Yakov corrects next to him. “They’ll be fine.”

Yuuri sometimes forgets the Bitter Grandpa Coach Yakov can be gentle on his students.

Phichit and Chris take the stage. The music begins, and they stay in the same position. Yurio swears loudly. Then, out of nowhere, they spring into simultaneous back handsprings, meet with a spin, and take off in a rousing Charleston. The crowd goes insane, and the judges look as if they’ve just been socked. JJ looks like he’s just eaten a very sour lemon. Isabella, a human angel who is for some reason dating the world’s most absorbed human, is clapping along with the crowd. Yakov has a small, secret smile on his face, as if he knew this was coming all along.

The rest of the dance goes accordingly. They don’t do any more aerials, seemingly having stunned the judges enough, and the roar of the crowd after the take their bow seems to tell the tale of who won the sudden death. When the judges announce the scores - heavily tilted in Phichit and Chris’ favors, no one is surprised.

All four of them are into the finals. One third of the teams in the finals of Collegiate Nationals are Yakov’s. Damn, Yuuri thinks, we’re good.

-

Before heading on stage, Phichit, Chris, Yuuri, and Viktor all put their hands in together for their ritual ‘we made finals’ chant.

“Count us off, ‘cap,” Phichit says, gesturing to Yuuri, who is the most senior member. He takes a deep breath, and begins.

“FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST  
YOU KNOW WE ARE THE BEST  
WE’RE THE SWINGERS WITH THE SPIRIT  
AND NOW YOU’RE GONNA HEAR IT  
GO SWINGERS  
GO, GO SWINGERS, YEAH!”

They erupt in peals of laughter, Chris, who is almost a little too engaged in the chant, wiggles his eyebrows as they break away.

“Ready?” Yuuri asks Viktor. He leans in and pulls Yuuri into a big hug.

“No matter how this ends,” Viktor says, “I love you, I appreciate you, and you’re amazing.” He pauses, “also, I’m only proposing if we win gold.”

Yuuri shoves Viktor away in surprise. “You’re WHA-”

“-Let’s go!” Viktor says cheerfully, grabbing Yuuri’s arm and tugging him on stage. Still open mouthed and blushing, and perhaps about to be fucking proposed to, Yuuri tumbles on stage, standing next to Viktor in the lineup. They’re last to go, Phichit and Chris the first since they scored the lowest by default of having to go to sudden death.

It’s not that they haven’t talked about marriage, because they have. It’s come up in casual moments, often laying on each other’s chests, murmuring ‘stay with me forever,’ and the other echoing ‘and ever.’ They’ve sat in bed and looked at rings together, but mostly joking, laughing about a future that seemed worlds away. But it’s in due time – they’re about to graduate – about to start a real life together. And fuck – it’s their 2nd anniversary. It’s Valentine’s day. Of course Viktor would choose today of all days to propose.

Phichit and Chris start off, swinging to a cheery “Flat Foot Foogie” with the live band playing in the background. They’re incredibly good, as usual, working with the precision and level of technicality that Yakov has always demanded from them. They have several amazing aerials, flashy enough to score some serious points, but nothing like their balls-to-the-walls extreme back handspring from earlier. That kind of move in the finals could land them in trouble, as the routine has to be at least 60% swing. Too much deviance from the main theme is never a good thing.

Which is why Viktor getting up there and doing a pirouette in the middle of the stage is a big risk. The judges are either going to love it or hate it.

Phichit and Chris finish their dance, and bow. The next pair takes the stage, and then the next, and next, and so on. No one does anything out of the ordinary. There’s some incredible Charleston action from a Korean duo, but Phichit and Chris are clearly leading the field when Viktor and Yuuri take the stage.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Viktor, just before the music starts, pats his left pocket. Yuuri notices, sees what could be a tiny, tiny, circle imprint in Viktor’s pants, catches his breath in his throat. A ring. He brought a ring on stage.

Yuuri would rather die than lose this competition.

Viktor seems to know it too. He pulls Yuuri straight in and begins the dance, hard and fast. He’s vicious to move through their repertoire. It takes Yuuri a moment to recognize the song they’re dancing to. It’s ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing if you Ain’t Got That Swing,’ the song they were listening to just this morning. The song from Swing Kids, the one about overcoming difficulties and oppression and struggles and. It echoes. All the homophobia that Viktor faced in Russia, his move across the world to a brand new country, overcoming what had destroyed his passion for dance, coming back to dance, falling in love, and now. Here. And Yuuri – overcoming years of anxiety and stress over doing even the smallest of tasks. Freeing himself through swing, meeting someone he’d very well love to spend the rest of his life with, and dancing on the stage he had lusted after his entire life.

And then, this moment. Yuuri flicks him out, and Yuuri barrel rolls out. Viktor lets go, tilts his head to the ceiling, an angel gazing into the starlight, and raises his hands. Yuuri knows his job – swing alone in the opposite direction around him, clapping every time he makes a round. But how could he cross in front of this angel. Instead, Yuuri says ‘fuck this competition,’ stands off to the side, and gives the spotlight up to Viktor. He starts to twirl, raising himself onto the toes of his dress shoes (ow) and goes for it. Yuuri claps, raising his hands over his head and brings the rest of the crowd into a rousing cheer along with him. When he comes down, grinning from ear to ear, Yuuri catapults forward, front flipping over Viktor’s outstretched arm. He’s caught on the other side, turned again, and they’re back to swing. The crowd is going insane. Both Yuuri and Viktor are grinning from ear to ear.

No matter what the judges say, this is always going to be a moment that Yuuri holds dear. Treasures. Clasps to his chest and kisses before he falls asleep.

And then – the music ends. That was it. He falls into Viktor’s arms, bowing to the judges and the cheering crowd, tears slipping from his eyes. His collegiate dance career is over. He pulls Viktor closer, yanking him into a tight hug. His fists grip the fabric of Viktor’s vest, tears dotting the sleeves of his shirt. When he pulls away, there are tears in Viktor’s eyes too.

A catharsis.

They return to the lineup, and wait for the results. Phichit mouths ‘wow’ when they pass by, and Chris just winks. The rest of the competitors offer varied thumbs up and smiles as they return to their places. It takes a few moments for the crowd to completely quiet down, and then there is the waiting game. It only takes a few minutes for the announcer to call them back to center-stage and announce the results.

They call the 6th place duo. The 5th. The 4th.

Fuck, they’re top 3. Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand tighter. He squeezes back, reassuring and loving.

“In third place,” the announcer calls, “Seung Gil Lee and Ji-Ae Nari!”

Yuuri and Viktor turn to look at Phichit and Chris, still standing next to them on the stage. In the crowd, Yurio looks like he’s about to explode from anticipation.

“Taking home second place,” the whole room goes silent. Yuuri’s heart hammers into his chest. “Phichit Chulanont and Chris Giacometti!”

They won.

They actually fucking won.

Yuuri spins to Viktor, mouth open, ready to leap into his arms, but he isn’t there.

“And the winners of the 2018 Collegiate Nationals Swing Competition is,” Viktor is dropping to one knee, “Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki.”

Viktor is reaching into his pocket, and the room is on fire, screaming at the sudden realization of what Viktor is about to do.

Yuuri covers his mouth, Phichit has gotten his hands on one of the photographer’s cameras, and Chris is hollering in the background.

Viktor is pulling a golden ring from his pocket, and offering it on an open palm to Yuuri. He’s opening his mouth to say something – ‘marry me?’ probably – but Yuuri can’t wait any longer.

“Yes, god, a thousand times yes,” he cries, tears running freely down his cheeks. He goes to pull Viktor to his feet, but Viktor is faster, catching Yuuri’s left hand and sliding the ring onto his ring finger.

“KISS!” A suspiciously small and Russian voice calls from the crowd, “MORONS!”

Spoiler alert – they do.

-

Epilogue

Four months later

-

Yuuri leans against the maroon wall of the dance studio and watches the pair sweep across the floor.

“More energy,” he instructs, “Katya, stop dropping your wrists on your spins. Keep the tension in your limbs. Remember, think of them as cords connecting you to your partner.”

They reset and try the move again. Yuuri nods. “End there, that was far better.” The couple nods, smiling, embracing at the end of their workout.

“Thank you, Mr. Katsuki,” they say, and Juan dips Katya as a pseudo-bow.

“Of course,” Yuuri says, “Katya, your footwork is starting to look much better. I can tell you’ve been working on it.”

They thank him once more and step out of the studio and into the cold night air. Yuuri takes a deep breath, grabs his bag, and follows them out.

It’s the end of his first month in New York. The end of his first month at his new job – one Yakov landed for him. He’s one of the senior swing coaches for New York University and works for a premiere private swing studio. It’s enough to pay the bills in their modest Manhattan apartment.

Well, that, and Viktor is being paid to be the lead dancer in the New York Ballet Company. Which helps pay the bills, and the champagne bills, and the flowers-Viktor-keeps-buying-Yuuri bills.

A month in New York, away from his friends and the life that he used to call home. They’d left a few days after they both walked, graduating with special honors for being the first duo from their university to win Swing Nationals. Yuuri is sure that Yakov had something to do with it, but he doubts that he’ll ever say that he did.

Yurio is swearing that he’s moving to New York as soon as he’s old enough to start training under Yuuri and Viktor, which is incredibly flattering. Phichit is still in Detroit, still in university, and Chris is moving back to Switzerland to be closer to his family. Yakov still runs his studio, training the next generation of national champions.

Yuuri is sure that their record will fall one day. There will be better dancers, cooler fusions, more memorable dances. But for them, the dance and the heart they left on that stage will never die. It’ll always be a part of who he and Viktor are.

Reaching for his keys for their apartment, Yuuri’s ring catches light off the lamp outside their door. He smiles softly, and swings in the door.

“Honey,” he calls, “I’m home!”


End file.
